daleksanddetectives' 30 Day OTP Challenge: Johnlock
by daleksanddetectives
Summary: I decided to try my hand at the 30 day otp challenge. So, here's 30 day's worth of fluffy little snapshots into John and Sherlock's lives.
1. Day 1: Holding hands

_This is my first attempt at the 30 Day OTP Challenge. _

_OTP: Johnlock_

_Day 1: Holding hands_

It had been a week since Sherlock had clumsily admitted his feelings for John. Not that it had changed much between them. They shared an occasional kiss, sometimes held hands, snuggled on the sofa (usually initiated by John) and such. They kept all physical contact within the flat though, they already had Sally and Anderson calling them names and referring to them as being together (although they never would have thought they were actually right).

They came to an agreement to keep their being together quiet until they were one hundred percent sure it was going to work out, so John kept up his "not gay" charade and Sherlock pretended to not be interested in anything that still had a pulse.

This week, there had been a particularly puzzling murder and, of course, Lestrade had called in the consulting duo to take a look.

As usual, Sherlock waltzed onto the scene, deduced that the woman had been killed by her husband, and reported that to find the murderer, he would be hiding in his mother's house (which, coincidentally, was just on the next street, third house on the left, the one with the blue door), before grabbing John's hand and pulling him away.

"Come along John,"

The members of Scotland Yard stare after them while Lestrade just mutters under his breath, "it's about time," before ordering them all to get back to work.

They're halfway back to Baker Street before Sherlock realises he's still holding John's hand. He drops it quickly and tucks his hands inside his pockets, his cheeks turning slightly pink. He mutters a quiet sorry under his breath before speeding up. John has to job trying to catch up, his legs are no match for Sherlock's tall stature. When he does catch up he reaches for Sherlock's shoulder to stop him.

He smiles, "it's fine, you know," John reaches down to twine his bare fingers in between Sherlock's gloved ones and squeezes gently, "it's all fine."

He sets off again, pulling Sherlock along behind him. They soon fall into step with each other, and John leans into Sherlock's side.

When they get home, Sherlock refuses to let go of John's hand. Instead he pulls the shorter man in front of him and asks, "are you sure?"

John stands on his tiptoes to kiss Sherlock's jaw, "only if you're okay with it."

Sherlock smiles and nods.

John tugs on Sherlock's hand and starts up the stairs, "I was getting sick of repeating myself to everyone anyway."

They accidentally fall asleep on the sofa, when they wake up the next morning their hands are still resting against each other.

People will always talk, but quite frankly, they just didn't care.


	2. Day 2: Cuddling somewhere

_Day 2: Cuddling somewhere_

Sherlock didn't understand how people could mindlessly sit and watch television for hours on end. The few times John had made him sit and watch something all the way through, he'd ended up arguing furiously with the host of the show and then throwing the remote half way across the room, much to John's annoyance.

John, however, is the opposite. Saturday nights are one of his favourite times for lazing about on the sofa, especially after a day of chasing criminals around London or a long day at the surgery.

After a particularly long chase, they'd returned home at about seven pm. Sherlock had immediately stripped off his coat and settled into his arm chair with John's laptop to type up the day's findings. John, on the other hand, headed straight for the kitchen to make two cups of tea. He hands Sherlock his mug, muttering a quiet threat of not spilling it over the laptop, before placing his own mug on the coffee table and sitting at the comfiest end of the sofa, leaning his back against the arm rest. He turns the tv on to BBC1 and sighs happily, his show hadn't started yet, there were still people jumping around the _Total Wipeout_ course. He snuggles down into the worn sofa and daydreams until he hears Sherlock snap the laptop shut.

"Solved it then?" John asks.

"Oh yes. About three hours ago. Tedious, as usual."

John chuckles quietly as Sherlock gets to his feet to drop the laptop and mug on the table. He perches at the other end of the sofa and looks at John like an abandoned puppy. John sighs and holds his arms open, "come here."

Sherlock smiles sheepishly and leans across, resting in between John's legs and wrapping his arms around his waist. He rests his head under John's chin and sighs contentedly. John rubs small, comforting circles on Sherlock's back and presses his nose into the brown curls.

After fifteen minutes John can hear quiet snoring. At least Sherlock wouldn't be complaining about the impossibilities of Doctor Who.


	3. Day 3: Watching a movie

_Day 3: watching a movie_

_"_What do you mean you've never seen_ Lord of the Rings_?"

Sherlock shakes his head and mumbles something about his disinterest in fantasy.

"You are going to sit on that sofa, you are going to watch the film, and you are going to enjoy it, okay?"

Sherlock grunts and folds his arms across his chest.

"Don't be a child," John spits, putting the DVD in the player with a little more force than necessary. He marches to Sherlock and grabs his shoulders to push him onto the sofa, "you haven't had a case in four days, you might find you like it," _and having you interested in films might save the walls from their weekly pounding_, he thinks.

He sits next to Sherlock and pulls his legs across his own. Sherlock looks at him curiously.

"So you can't escape," John presses play, "if I have hold of your legs it means you won't be able to make a run for it—"

"And if I need to go to the toilet?"

"You won't. Now shush, it's starting."

Sherlock lets out a quiet grumble, but stops when John swats at his calf.

They sit in complete silence; John keeps one eye on Sherlock, just in case he tries to move. By the halfway point, however, Sherlock is mesmerised by the world of hobbits, dwarves and elves, his eyes glowing in a similar way as they did when he had the case on the serial suicides.

John smirks, _John 1 Sherlock 0_.

When the film finishes, John turns to look at Sherlock expectantly. He's met with the face of a five year old at Christmas, "enjoy it then?"

Sherlock is silent for a moment, before starting to babble "is that it? What happened? They still have the ring don't they? I thought—" he looks at John, "I don't understand."

John chuckles and lifts Sherlock's legs so he can stand up. He picks up the second DVD and waves it in the air, "want to watch some more? There's another two."

Sherlock nods quickly.

John puts the second DVD in and presses play. He sits back down, and as the opening credits begin to roll, puts his legs over Sherlock's and leans into his side. In turn, Sherlock wraps his arms around John's waist.

Just before the film starts, John speaks, "does this mean you'll take me to see _The Hobbit_ in December?"


	4. Day 4: On a date

_Day 4: On a date_

It's an unusually quiet afternoon at 221B Baker Street. Sherlock isn't bored (for once) and John updates his blog. They sit in comfortable silence, Sherlock occasionally picking up his violin and playing a few notes, before losing interest and going to find something else to do.

When John's stomach gives a loud growl around six, he laughs and closes the laptop, rubs his face and starts making his way to the kitchen to find some food. Sherlock intercepts him in the door by launching himself across the room and wrapping his arms around John's shoulders, pulling him backwards.

"No, John," he pushes him towards the door, "we're going out tonight."

"What? You said there were no cases today—"

Sherlock interrupts him, "no, not a case. I'm taking you out for dinner. Now put your coat on and let's go."

John gawps.

"Come on," Sherlock has John's coat, holding it open for him.

"Taking me out for dinner?" Sherlock nods. "No ulterior motive?" He nods again. "I won't have to leave my pasta half eaten?" Nod. "Just me and you?"

"For goodness sake, John. Yes. Now let's go," Sherlock shakes the jacket at him, "unless you'd rather stay here and I go out by myself?"

"Okay, fine, thank you. Let's go."

They pick up their phones and wallets, head down onto the street and hail a taxi. Sherlock doesn't tell John where they're going, although, John has already worked it out. Angelo greets them with the usual gusto, bringing across extra wine 'for the happy couple'. John looks at Sherlock curiously; they'd agreed to only tell a few people about their involvement for now, Sherlock just smiles in return, "he just knows these things."

They eat their pasta and talk about what they were planning for the rest of the week, falling into their usual banter.

John doesn't complain when Angelo puts a candle on the table.

When they exit the restaurant they find that the night air is still warm enough for John to be comfortable in just his jacket and for Sherlock to leave his scarf hanging from his pocket, so they decide to walk home, finally able to enjoy the London sights and sounds peacefully without being on the tail of some criminal.

Eventually, Sherlock speaks, "thank you, John. For letting me do this, it was," he pauses, "nice. I'd like to do this again."

John smirks, "what is this, a business arrangement? How about next Tuesday at four? I'm free then," he bumps his shoulder against Sherlock's, who in turn grins.

"I couldn't possibly make Tuesday; Friday is a much better day for me."

John stops walking and leans up to kiss him, "sounds perfect."


	5. Day 5: Kissing

_Going to say this now, these are not part of a specific timeline. They can all be read separately and don't necessarily follow on from each other._

* * *

_Day 5: kissing_

The first time Sherlock kissed John, they were at a crime scene. The second time, they were stood in the middles of a rainstorm.

The officers from Scotland Yard have set up a tent over the scene; Sherlock throws his phone from one hand to the other over and over again, staring at the body of a young man. He's trying to deduce how he could have ended up on the docks of the Thames (a place he had no reason to be in) and there's something he's missed. One small detail he can't seem to pick up. He growls in frustration, "John!"

John sighs; rolling his eyes at Greg, and walks over to Sherlock. He can see how much Sherlock's mood had gone south since they'd arrived, so he decides to stay quiet, instead, raising his eyebrows in greeting.

Sherlock practically throws his phone at John, who just manages to catch it, and tucks his hands under his chin in the usual prayer position. He chews on his lip and focuses his eyes on John.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" John stares back as he puts the phone in his pocket with his own.

"Shut up, I'm thinking."

John folds his arms across his chest and sighs loud enough for Sherlock to hear. He cocks his head to one side and purses his lips. He listens to the rain thudding against the plastic of the tent.

Sherlock's eyes start darting around John's face, as though the answer would somehow appear on John's skin. Finally, after what felt like hours, but was in fact more like sixty seconds, John speaks, "did he have any siblings? Close family? Girlfriend, boyfriend? Anything?"

"Oh," Sherlock's eyes widen and he grins, "oh! That's it! John, you're fantastic!" Sherlock leaps forward and grabs John's face, planting a kiss on his lips. John struggles for a moment, suddenly aware of all the police officers staring at them. When he realises he has no chance of escaping the iron grip Sherlock has on his face, John rests his hands on Sherlock's hips. Almost immediately Sherlock pulls away, his face slightly flushed, "I've got it! Lestrade, find this man's sister, she'll have all the answers."

He leans down and gives John another quick kiss before announcing, "we'll be off now, I'm sure your people have enough intelligence between them to not mess this up." He grabs John's hand and pulls him away to the main street and into the pouring rain.

John lets himself be pulled for a few metres before he digs his heels into the pavement, "Sherlock, wait. Do you have any money on you?" Sherlock shakes his head, "Oyster card?"

"No, I thought you brought your wallet?"

"I thought you had yours. You're the one with huge pockets."

They stare at each other for a moment.

"How far away from Baker Street are we?"

Sherlock looks up at the surrounding buildings, squinting his eyes against the rain, "not too far. An hour's walk, maybe?"

John sighs, "fine, we'll have to walk. But if my leg starts acting up, you're carrying me."

Sherlock smirks as they continue walking. They don't talk much, the quiet is comfortable. After fifteen minutes the rain starts coming down harder, John quickly pulls Sherlock into a doorway for shelter, mumbling about getting even more drenched than they already are.

While they're waiting for the rain to go off a bit, Sherlock notices John shivering quite violently, so he pulls him close to his chest and wraps his coat around him. John protests lightly, but soon abandons the train of thought when he realises just how warm it is inside the coat.

They're silent for a few minutes, "why did you kiss me earlier?"

"I don't know. Impulse, I suppose."

"Oh." He pauses for a few beats, "you're welcome to do it again, if you like."

Sherlock laughs lightly, "am I?"

John rests his face against Sherlock's neck, looking out onto the empty street, "of course," he gently knocks his knee against Sherlock's, deciding to play the innocent card, "unless, you're having second thoughts?"

"Wouldn't dream of it," Sherlock dips his head just enough to catch John's lips again. This time, the kiss a lot gentler. They slowly get used to the shape of each other's mouths; Sherlock finds that their height difference is just right.

When they eventually break apart, John looks out onto the street to see the rain has settled down to a light drizzle, "we should go home," he mutters.

Sherlock looks down before making direct eye contact with John, "are you sure you want… more than a friendship with me?"

John blinks, "of course. I wouldn't be here if I didn't."

"People will talk," Sherlock mumbles against John's hair.

"They do little else."


	6. Day 6: Wearing each other's clothes

_Day 6: wearing each other's clothes_

John only went out to get some milk. When he gets home he sees Sherlock curled in on himself on the sofa, his coat draped over him. He goes straight into the kitchen to put away the shopping and speaks, knowing Sherlock will be able to hear him, "a bit cold, are we?"

Sherlock sits up and grumbles, his hair sticking out in odd directions. He throws off his coat when John enters the living room and mutters about how the heating had broken and wouldn't be fixed until Tuesday, but John isn't listening, instead he's busy looking at what Sherlock is wearing.

"Are you wearing my jumper?" He interrupts.

Sherlock eyes him suspiciously, "you're wearing my scarf."

John laughs, "well, you look ridiculous."

"Says the man who wears them every day."

"Yes, but at least they actually fit me."

Sherlock smiles, "your turn."

"What?"

"Why are you wearing my scarf?"

"Oh, um," John looks down at the scarf, "it was cold and this was all I could find. I can see why you wear it so much, it's really warm."

Sherlock stands and picks up his coat; he puts it over John's shoulders and stands back. He folds his arms and grins.

John just raises his eyebrows and chuckles, pulling lightly at the hem of the jumper Sherlock had stolen, "if anyone saw us right now."

Sherlock just smiles in return, "now, about the heating…"


	7. Day 7: Cosplaying

_I wrote a lot of this from my own experiences of London in cosplay. I'm surprised I didn't get stopped by the police for carrying a sword or toy gun._

* * *

_Day 7: cosplaying_

"I'm not wearing that."

"Yes you are. It's for a case, John!"

John looks at the outfit Sherlock had laid out for him on their bed. "You really can't expect me to wear this. In public," he rubs his face and groans.

Sherlock walks through the door of the bedroom wearing a purple top, red scarf and tan jacket, "I am, I see no reason why you shouldn't. Where we're going, we'll blend right in."

John's jaw drops, "is that—"

"Shut up."

"_Merlin_?"

"Quiet."

"That explains the armour. I thought you didn't even like the BBC."

Sherlock huffs quietly, "of course I know about popular media, John. I'm not oblivious to everything, you know."

John raises his eyebrows and eyes the costume again, "so, where are we going?"

Sherlock searches his outfit for a place to put his phone, "the Excel centre at Custom House. We'll take the tube. Apparently there's some kind of expo going on. I was hired to return something to a girl, who I'm told is going to be there all day."

John sighs and starts putting on the costume, "you owe me for this."

John gawps when they get off the tube. There are literally hundreds of people in costumes, "how do they get through London with those weapons without getting arrested?"

"Quite easily, the police are alerted and keep a close eye on them, just in case someone tries anything funny," he smirks, "very few are real though, all extremely impressive replicas."

They follow the crowd to the main plaza. Sherlock finds the highest place on the steps and turns his attention to the crowd, clearly looking for someone specific. John shuffles his feet awkwardly, trying to avoid the gazes of people walking past. Some of them stop and point, occasionally shouting "Arthur! Merlin! I love you!" in their direction.

Sherlock suddenly points to a girl wearing a very short skirt and a long turquoise wig, talking animatedly so a group of people similarly dressed, "her."

John pulls at the armour to make it more comfortable, "okay, now what?"

Sherlock pulls a phone out of his jacket, "I have to return this." He sets off at a fast walk, John clumsily following.

Sherlock taps her shoulder. She turns and eyes them curiously before grinning, "ohmigosh I love your cosplays! That's one of my favourite shows!"

Sherlock gets straight to the point, "I'd like to return your phone. It was handed in to the police last week and they asked me to return it to you. Afternoon." He turns quickly and marches away before she can reply.

John nods at her and runs to catch up, the costume not helping, "so we came here, in these costumes, for _that_?"

Sherlock grins and pulls off his red scarf, "no. I _was_ actually hired to return the phone. The costumes weren't entirely necessary though; I wanted to see you in that armour."


	8. Day 8: Shopping

_Day 8: shopping_

"You're coming to Asda with me. You need to choose what food you want this week. I'm sick of you complaining that I got the wrong brand of beans or something."

Sherlock sinks into the sofa, trying to make himself as small as he can.

"And don't even try talking your way out of this one; you know the big eyes don't work on me anymore."

Sherlock curls in on himself even more, like he's trying to disappear completely.

John grabs Sherlock's coat and scarf from the back of the door and throws them onto the seat next to him, "I'm going to find my wallet and the shopping list, you'd better be ready when I get back."

Sherlock huffs quietly. John rolls his eyes and heads towards the bedroom. When he gets back into the living room, Sherlock (and his coat) have disappeared.

He groans, "Sherlock, I'm not playing games."

Sherlock calls from the kitchen, "who said I was playing a game? I'm trying to decide what I want."

"Well, hurry up then, the shops'll be closing soon."

"Don't be ridiculous, John. I may not go there often, but I do know the supermarket is open twenty-four hours."

_Damn_, John thinks, _of course he would know._

"Just hurry up anyway; I don't want to be there all night."

Sherlock emerges from the kitchen wearing his coat and scarf, he's already looking bored and they haven't even left the flat yet, _this is going to be a long trip_, John sighs.

They hail a taxi across to the supermarket.

While John gets a trolley, Sherlock lingers at the entrance, glaring down anyone who looked at him for too long and silently deducing the life stories of people standing around. When John catches up he takes one look at Sherlock and says, in a mocking, child's voice, "does grumpy Sherlock want to sit in the trolley?"

"No."

John laughs at his own joke, "lighten up Sherlock, we won't be long. It's only a week's worth of shopping."

They make their way around the supermarket, John easily finding the things they need, Sherlock occasionally darting off to look at something that catches his interest.

_It's like shopping with a five year old_, John thinks, _I should have made him sit in the trolley, it would be less hassle._

They get to the checkout without incident, but with a few extras John hadn't intended to get, thanks to Sherlock and his experiments.

When they get home, John takes the bags into the kitchen and starts unpacking. Meanwhile, Sherlock flops onto the sofa, still wearing his coat.

John finishes taking everything out of the bags and makes his way into the living room, carrying two cups of tea, when he sees Sherlock, still lying on the sofa, "what's wrong? Did a little walk around the shop tire you out that much?"

"Not at all."

"Then why—"

"I'm never doing that again."

"And why not?"

"It was boring."

John snorts, "shut up and drink your tea."


	9. Day 9: Hanging out with friends

_Day 9: hanging out with friends_

John and Sherlock are very careful when it comes to telling people about their relationship. They don't want any old person to know, it could be used against them by one of the enemies they'd acquired through cases, so they decide on a small list of people they both consider as friends.

* * *

John met with Greg in a pub and told him over a pint. Sherlock stayed home, giving the excuse of 'too many people in pubs'. Before John had managed to get the sentence out of his mouth, Greg was already smiling.

"I know."

"How? We've been pretty careful."

"I know Sherlock well, and I like to think I know you too. It was very obvious to me."

John shakes his head and laughs.

Greg cocks his head to the side and grins, "and I saw you kissing him in an alleyway last week when you were supposed to be chasing down that burglar."

John blushes and downs the rest of his pint.

* * *

They told Mrs Hudson together by inviting her up for tea and cake. She clasps her hands together and looks at them fondly, "you do know I'm going to have to show you boys off now."

Later, John and Sherlock are called in by Lestrade. Before they leave John pulls Mrs Hudson to the side and whispers, "you already knew, didn't you?"

"Of course I did."

"But how?" John is perplexed; they'd made sure to be quiet when they knew she would be home.

"I just know these things, dear," she says with a wink, "and just remember that the walls are quite thin," before scooping up the dishes and heading for her own kitchen.

* * *

When they invited Mycroft round, he took one look at them both and smirked before turning and leaving again.

Later that evening, Sherlock received a text, "Remember to call me for the wedding MH"

Sherlock would never admit that his cheeks turned a faint shade of pink.

* * *

Telling Molly was handled very carefully, she still fancied Sherlock quite a bit, so they went to Bart's together specially. John wouldn't let Sherlock go alone, in fear of what he might say to the poor girl. Surprisingly, she took it quite well. She smiled and wished them both luck.

* * *

Sherlock texted Irene, he thought she ought to know. He chuckled at the very short reply, "About time IA x"


	10. Day 10: Animal ears

_Day 10: animal ears_

It had been a long day and John was exhausted. First off, the surgery had been very busy, second, there had been almost apocalyptic rain all day, and finally, he didn't have enough money for a cab home, the nearest tube station being at least a five minute walk. To top it all off, he'd left his coat at work, which meant that he was going to get soaked walking home.

He slams the front door and kicks off his shoes, and begins to squelch up the stairs. Dumping his bag by the door he flops onto the sofa and presses his face into the cushions, almost immediately falling asleep.

Sherlock arrives home half an hour later, leaving his umbrella in the kitchen to dry. He steps into the living room, just about to call John's name, when he sees him asleep, cuddling a cushion with his still damp hair sticking in random directions. He pauses in the middle of the room for a moment. Then, he smirks and shrugs his coat off, before kneeling next to where John's head is resting and stares.

_Sound asleep._

Sherlock grins and pulls at a few of the clumps of John's hair, checking to see if they stay where he puts them. They do. Sherlock chuckles quietly to himself and starts systematically moving the hair. After five minutes he smiles and stands, happy with his work. Picking up his laptop, he settles into his armchair to wait for John to wake up.

One hour later, John begins to stir, grumbling about his clothes still being damp. He sees Sherlock

"What have you done?"

Sherlock blinks.

"You look guilty. What have you done?" John yawns and pulls at his jumper, pulling a face at the damp.

"Why do you think I look guilty? I've done nothing wrong," Sherlock says smoothly.

John mumbles and stands up, stretching when he glances in the mirror and snorts.

Sherlock bites his lip and looks down to stop himself from laughing.

"Why, Sherlock? Just, why?"

"How could I not?"

John's hair is mostly flat, which is unusual, since he usually has trouble controlling it after sleeping, except, two flicks, one on either side of his head, resembling a pair of animal ears. He shakes his head and lets out a breath of a laugh. Sherlock walks behind him and wraps his arms around his waist, resting his nose in John's hair.

"I hate you."

Sherlock kisses John's neck, "no, you don't."


	11. Day 11: Wearing kigurumis

_Day 11: wearing kigurumis_

John couldn't help but burst out laughing when he opened his Christmas present from his sister. Sherlock had looked on quietly, fiddling with his new phone, given to him by Mycroft. He drops it when he hears John's laughter and pulls his eyebrows together.

John pulls two kigurumi suits out of the box on the table, bringing about another wave of laughter. He sees that they each have a name tag on. One is a panda with a tag simply reading, "To John, Love Harry x", the other is an otter, whose tag reads, "John, you'd better make Sherlock wear this, Harry x PS send photos please"

Impossibly, Sherlock's eyebrows knit even further together, "I'm not wearing that."

"Come on, it'll be a laugh," John touches the material, "no one'll see you."

Sherlock just gives him a 'I don't think so' look and goes back to his phone.

John steps into the living room at about ten that night, wearing his panda kigurumi over the top of his pyjamas.

"Put yours on Sherlock, it's really warm," Jon throws up the hood and grins.

"I'm quite warm enough, thank you John."

John shuffles over to Sherlock and grabs his hands, pulling at them like a child, "ten minutes? For me?"

Sherlock sighs, "five."

"Deal."

He stands and shrugs off his dressing gown. John smiles, quietly happy with himself, and sits on the sofa, pulling his legs up and hugging his knees. He watches as Sherlock picks up the otter suit from where John had left it earlier and examines it. Sighing, he puts it on over his pyjamas and turns to John, "happy now?"

"And the hood."

Sherlock rolls his eyes and puts the hood up. He holds his arms out in a 'Well?' gesture.

John puts his feet back on the floor and opens his arms. Sherlock sits next to him so John can wrap his arms around him. He leans back and gives Sherlock a light squeeze.

"See? Nice and warm."

"It's not too bad," he replies, leaning into John's side.


	12. Day 12: Making out

_Day 12: making out_

John and Sherlock are at a crime scene for the fifth time in four hours. Sherlock is, as usual, ignoring everyone around them, entirely focused on the case.

Lestrade takes the officers over to his car, to discuss what to do next, leaving John and Sherlock to themselves.

They stand in quiet for a moment, John decides to break it, "we've barely spoken in the last week, Sherlock. You never get like this on a case—"

Sherlock cuts him off by grunting and begins to turn his back on him. John glances at the Yarders, making sure none of them are watching, and grabs Sherlock's scarf, pulling him into the nearest alleyway. He might be shorter than Sherlock, but he's definitely stronger, able to push him against the wall.

"John, what—"

Sherlock isn't able to finish his sentence because John has grabbed his lapels and pulled him down to kiss him. His eyes widen, but he quickly gets the idea and kisses back, winding his arms around John's waist. John reaches up to wrap his arms around Sherlock's neck and presses himself against him, trying to get a better angle.

Sherlock's hands drift down past to John's belt, to grab two handfuls of his underwear. When he reaches the fabric, he chuckles, pulling away a few centimetres, "the red ones, John? You haven't worn these in a while."

"I only wear them because I know you like them so much," John purrs, pressing his lips against Sherlock's neck, "and I was hoping you would finish this case today and feel the need to celebrate."

"You're right, they are my favourite," Sherlock punctuates this with a quick squeeze and the reapplication of his lips.

Lestrade's voice brings them back to the real world. Reluctantly, they pull away from each other. John rearranges Sherlock's scarf and giggles, "having a quick snog with my boyfriend in an alleyway, I feel like a teenager again."

Sherlock shrugs, "I don't remember this part of being a teenager."

John glances out to where the Yarders had reappeared, "we'd better go back out there before they wonder where we are."

"Or we could make a run for home?"

"What?"

"Oh, I solved the case hours ago; I was hoping there would be something else of interest, and I wanted to see what you would do."

"You are unbelievable," John grins.


	13. Day 13: Eating ice cream

_Day 13: eating ice cream_

One time, John managed to convince Sherlock to take a walk around the park. It took a lot of convincing on John's part, but Sherlock eventually gave in and agreed.

They'd wandered side by side, enjoying the unusually warm autumnal air, when John suddenly pushes Sherlock to sit on a bench.  
"Wait here," John grins before running off in the direction they'd just come from.

Sherlock obediently stays put, pulling out his phone to check for any texts. Nothing. Sighing, he leans back and watches the people making their way through the park. Children with parents, people on their way home from work, couples giggling and holding hands, cyclists, and joggers. He casts his eyes down to stop his mind going into overdrive and working out their life stories, instead focusing on the colours of the leaves, and deciding which tree they may have fallen from.

Within five minutes, John has returned, holding two ice cream cones. He smiles, "surprise," as he passes the cone with the mint ice cream over to Sherlock, keeping the strawberry for himself.

"I know it's not exactly ice cream weather, but that new sweet shop opened the other day and I really wanted to try it. It's homemade."

"How did you know I like mint?"

John sits next to him on the bench, "the science of deduction, of course."

Sherlock pulls his eyebrows together.

John nudges his shoulder, "I just know these things about you."

Sherlock pulls a face, "but how?"

"Shut up and eat your ice cream, Sherlock."


	14. Day 14: Genderswapped

_Day 14: genderswap_

For the first few weeks they live together, Sherlock and Joan's lives knit together quite well.

(When Sherlock first introduces her to Lestrade, he is amused by the difference between the two women. Sherlock, who he known for several years (and pulled out of several rough spots), had always been tall and quite glamorous in her long coat, Louboutins and short curly hair. But then there was Joan, a shorter, cuddlier woman, looking comfortable in a thick cardigan and jeans, her blonde-brown hair in a short pixie cut.)

Joan is loyal from the start, helping Sherlock with cases. The first time they end up chasing someone through London is an experience Joan wouldn't be forgetting anytime soon.

* * *

"Come along, there's a criminal to catch." Sherlock grins manically, eyes shining and her teeth a startling contrast against her red lipstick. She kicks off her shoes and throws them to Lestrade, "you know where to leave them," climbs on top of a bin, hitches up her skirt and hops over the fence.

Joan sighs, thankful she'd worn her boots today, "you'll ladder your tights again," she yells, pulling herself up onto the bin and leaping over the fence. She doesn't land quite as gracefully as Sherlock, but manages to stay on her feet.

When she catches up to Sherlock, who had stopped and seemed to be working out which way to go, she laughs, "the whole of Scotland Yard just saw your pants, Sherlock."

"Not the first time," she mumbles back, eyes darting around the street.

Joan snorts, "I should have known. How many pairs of tights do you go through on a chase? I should have brought some spares for you."

Sherlock glances down at her already ruined tights, "oh, I don't usually change them. I just wait until I get home."

"Really? People take you seriously when you're not wearing shoes and your tights are ruined?"

Sherlock smiles lopsidedly and mutters a quiet, "of course not," before darting off in a seemingly random direction, her coat billowing dramatically. Joan can't help but follow.

They manage to catch the criminal by midnight, handing him over to Lestrade and managing to flag down a taxi to go home. Sherlock stops the taxi at Northumberland Street, a quick "wait here," aimed at the driver, and grabs Joan's hand, pulling her out of the taxi and towards a closed restaurant.

"What are we doing here? It's passed midnight."

Sherlock ignores Joan and bangs her fist against the door of a place calling itself _Angelo's_ three times. It opens to reveal a grinning man holding Sherlock's shoes.

"Thank you Angelo, it's much appreciated, as usual," Sherlock says smiling widely. She motions in Joan's direction as she puts the shoes on, "this is my flatmate, Doctor Joan Watson."

Joan mutters, "hi," wobbling slightly as Sherlock rests a hand on her shoulder, balancing to put her shoes back on.

Angelo smiles in return, "have a nice night, I'm sure I'll be seeing the pair of you again soon." He closes the door, and Joan hears it lock again, so once she sees that Sherlock is stable on her heels, she pulls her away back to the taxi.

Before they get into the car, Sherlock holds the door closed and coughs, "are you sure you want to get involved with this? With me?"

Joan pulls a face, "you said dangerous, and here I am. I'm sure your genius brain can work that out." She pushes Sherlock into the taxi before getting in herself, leaning over to the driver, "Baker Street, please. 221b Baker Street."

Joan could get used to this new life with Sherlock.


	15. Day 15: In a different clothing style

_Day 15: in a different clothing style _

_I kind of teen!locked all over this prompt, I'm sorry that I'm not sorry._

When the school bell rings at four o clock, most of the students file out to go home, chattering to their friends or on the phone to their parents. Not John Watson though, he marches out of the front door and makes a beeline for behind the science block, where Sherlock Holmes is leaning against the wall, his shirt unbuttoned at the neck and his tie hanging out of his bag. He has a cigarette in between his lips and appears to be deep in thought, occasionally throwing glares in the direction of first years collecting their bikes.

"Sherlock," John growls, marching towards him, "how many times have I told you?" He grabs the cigarette out of Sherlock's hand and throws it on the floor, "it's not good for you."

Sherlock mumbles under his breath, "that was my last one," before John starts again.

"You skipped your last lesson. Again. You're going to get kicked out," he pauses, "where do you even get those from?"

Sherlock shuffles his feet like a child who had just been told off, "Mycroft."

"He just… gives you them?"

"Of course not, he was being annoying so I stole them. Didn't want them to go to waste."

John rubs his face and sighs, dumping his bag from his shoulder next to Sherlock's, he watches as the last bike is wheeled away around the corner. Once they're alone, John folds his arms and eyes Sherlock's messy uniform, the unbuttoned blazer and shirt, missing tie and Vans, "I swear, if you get kicked out of here—"

"I can assure you, John, mother would never allow it."

John snorts, "why am I even friends with you?"

Sherlock leans forward and hooks a finger under John's tie, pulling him closer. He smirks, "friends? I thought we passed that stage a long time ago when you decided climbing up to my window would be a regular thing."

John almost manages to keep a straight face, the corner of his mouth twitching barely noticeable. Sherlock, of course, spots it, taking it as an invitation to tug at John's tie again and press his lips against his temple.

John wrinkles his nose, "you smell like smoke."

"So?" Sherlock steps closer, pulling at the hem of John's worn cardigan.

"I'm not doing this in the science block. Let's go back to yours and see if you can change my mind, _after_ you've changed your clothes."

Sherlock makes a disgruntled noise and drops to the floor to pick up their bags. He grabs John's hand and starts to walk, pulling him along behind him, "Home? Yes. Change of clothes? We'll see."


	16. Day 16: During their morning rituals

_Day 16: during their morning rituals_

John usually wakes up with Sherlock attached to him like a limpet, an iron grip around his chest and Sherlock's head tucked under his chin. This morning is no different. John manages to wriggle out of Sherlock's arms and sits up; throwing his legs over the side of the bed. He looks fondly at Sherlock, who is already gravitating towards the centre of the bed, and smiles, _to think I used to wake up without this._

Rubbing his face, John stands to shrug on his dressing gown and go to the bathroom to clean his teeth. He drags his fingers through his hair, trying to make it lay flat. After a few minutes he gives up, leaving it sticking in odd directions, and heads towards the kitchen to make tea and toast.

He opens the newspaper from the day before, mindlessly filling in the Sudoku while he eats his toast. When he finishes he dumps the plate in the sink, making a mental note to wash later, and makes two cups of tea before returning to bed. He sets Sherlock's mug on the bedside table and climbs back into the bed, leaning his back against the headboard and pulling the duvet up around his chest.

John sips at his tea until he can feel Sherlock nuzzling into his stomach. Smiling, he pulls at the brown curls until Sherlock sits up and plucks the mug out of John's hands, leans across him and places it on the bedside table as if to say, _pay more attention to me_.

John smiles and opens his arms, "ten more minutes, then up."

Sherlock smirks and sleepily presses himself against John's chest, _he's like a cat_, John thinks, snuggling down into the pillows and pressing his nose into Sherlock's hair.


	17. Day 17: Spooning

_Day 17: spooning_

John wakes up with a start when he feels something warm pressing against his back. He feels curly hair brushing the back of his neck, without opening his eyes he mumbles, "what are you doing Sherlock? It's the middle of the night."

"It's cold in my room."

John is too tired to argue, quietly grumbling, "fine. Just go to sleep, I'll shout at you in the morning," and burrows back down into his pillows.

Hair tickles his neck again and he can feel Sherlock's arms wrap tightly around his waist and hands gripping the fabric of his t shirt. As Sherlock's chest settles against his back, John sighs, shaking his head slightly and shifting his hips to get comfortable.

Within a few minutes, John can hear Sherlock's breathing slow and even out. For a few moments, John stares out the window and listens to Sherlock's breathing, he then lets his eyes shut and quickly follows Sherlock into sleep.

When John wakes up the next morning, Sherlock's arm is still draped across his waist. He begins to stretch until he hears quiet snoring behind him. He looks over his shoulder to see Sherlock with his eyes closed, breathing deeply.

John turns under Sherlock's arm and rests his head on the pillow. Sherlock opens his eyes and watches John sleepily, tightening his hold protectively.

"Sherlock. Why are you here?"

Sherlock yawns, "like I said, it was cold in my room. And you stayed in my bed last week. It's an equal trade."

John stares, before giggling softly, "okay, fine. If I let you sleep here does that mean you sleep more often?"

Sherlock grins and burrows back into John's chest, a muffled, "'spose" escaping from the mess of hair and pillows.


	18. Day 18: Doing something together

_Day 18: doing something together_

John wipes the beads of sweat from his forehead using his sleeve, "I thought I'd finally found something I'd be better at than you."

Sherlock smirks, twirling the squash racquet in his hand, "you also thought I'd never played before. I'm full of surprises. Come on, you still have a chance of beating me. You're only losing by six points."

"Give me a second to catch my breath."

Sherlock chuckles and swans back onto the court, starting to warm up the ball again. John takes a sip of water and stretches. The sweat is pouring off him, but he challenged Sherlock to this match and he's determined to win. Rolling his shoulders he follows Sherlock, "so, how many points do I need to beat you? We're playing to eleven, right?"

"Oh, just six. Compared to my three."

"I'm going to wipe that smirk off your face. Pass the ball, it's my serve."

Sherlock throws it towards John, who catches it easily and taps it with his racquet a few times. Once satisfied that Sherlock hadn't poked a hole in it or something, he moves to the serving position and looks towards his partner, "ready?"

"Have been for ages."

John laughs as he serves, it flies over Sherlock's head and he just misses returning it.

John looks smug, "what was that about being better than me?"

Sherlock pouts and moves to the other side of the court, knocking the ball towards John, "you got lucky, get on with it."

John smirks and goes to serve again.

He loses the next two points.

Before Sherlock serves he grins, "whoever wins has to do the washing up and laundry for the next week. Deal?"

"Not that you do that anyway, but you're on."

John almost catches up with Sherlock, but ends up losing by one point.

"Well, it looks like you're going to be doing the housework this week," Sherlock smiles, twirling the racquet in his hand again.

John laughs and rubs his face, "great."

They shake hands acknowledging a good game and go to change their shoes and pick up their bags. Sherlock walks with an extra spring in his step as they leave.

"Don't get smug," John says, shrugging on his jacket.

"I wouldn't think of it." Sherlock raises his hand to a taxi waiting on the road.

"If I'm going to be doing the dishes for the next week, then I call the shower when we get home," John says as they climb into the taxi.


	19. Day 19: In formal wear

_Day 19: in formal wear_

Sherlock pulls uncomfortably at his tie, grumbling under his breath.

"Stop it," John swats Sherlock's hand away from his collar, "we're not going to be here much longer, you might as well look marginally decent when we do leave."

"I don't see why I have to look 'decent', John, they're just my family. They stopped caring a long time ago."

John's eyes dart up to meet Sherlock's, "are you serious? Your mum was so happy when you walked in and saw you in that tux."

"No, she was smiling because I haven't been to the Holmes Christmas party since I left home nearly twenty years ago. It may have also been influenced by the fact I brought you with me. She's been dying to meet you, you know."

John glances over towards the infamous Mummy Holmes, elegant in a deep purple dress, her silver hair in loose curls, "really?" John smirks, "she knows who you share a flat with?"

"Mycroft felt the need to inform her," Sherlock growls.

John chuckles and grabs a champagne flute, looking at the bubbling liquid closely. He takes a sip and looks up at Sherlock, whose face had turned to a grimace.

"What's up?"

"Mycroft."

John laughs again, "really? It's your family party, why wouldn't he be here?"

"Because, John, when I stopped attending, so did he. We would rather not associate ourselves with these _people_."

John stares for a moment and nods.

They stand in silence for a while. Sherlock glaring at his cousins and aunts, John downing the champagne and quickly finding a second glass. Eventually, John speaks.

"You know, even though you wear those fancy suits almost every day, you really suit that tuxedo."

"I could say the same to you, John. Get rid of those jumpers, I'll put a word in with my tailor if you like," Sherlock jokes.

John bumps Sherlock's shoulder, "hey, I love those jumpers. They're warm and comfortable."

Sherlock chuckles quietly, "whatever you say."

* * *

_Continued in day 20: dancing_


	20. Day 20: Dancing

_Day 20: dancing _

_Continued from day 19: in formal wear_

* * *

John quietly sips at his champagne, watching the refined members of the Holmes family move around the hall. The what-was faint music suddenly picks up its pace and pale fingers appear in front of his face. He eyes the owner of the hand suspiciously, "Sherlock, what are you doing?"

"Stop being dull, John. I'm inviting you to dance."

"I don't know how to dance."

"Good thing you'll be with me," Sherlock plucks the glass from John's hand and places it on a nearby table, "you're good at mimicking actions and I was taught to dance as soon as I could walk."

John sighs, "do I have any choice in the matter?"

"No."

"Fine," John slides his hand into Sherlock's and lets himself be guided into the middle of the room. John sees Sherlock's mother wave away the person she had been talking to, directing her attention to her youngest son. He looks around the rest of the room and sees Sherlock's cousins eyeing the mismatched pair curiously. Finally, he lays eyes on Mycroft who has a smug gleam in his eyes.

"Put your hand on my shoulder, it'll be easier if I lead."

John realises that they're in the centre of the room and quickly follows Sherlock's instructions, "are you sure about this?"

"Of course," Sherlock smiles, "keep your head up and follow me."

John does as he is told and when the music finishes, both men have managed to come out of the dance with only a few scuffs on their shoes (although Sherlock will be feeling the throbbing in his littlest toe for the rest of the night).

Sherlock glances over at Mummy Holmes, who is grinning, faint traces of happy tears evident in the corners of her eyes. His cheeks flush pink as he grabs John's hand and pulls him back into the quietest corner of the room.

"I see you managed to do better than when we last practised, brother dear."

Mycroft had silently appeared beside Sherlock, the smug look still apparent.

"No one asked you," Sherlock spits.

"They didn't, but I ought to tell you, Mummy is very impressed. I suspect she'll want both of you to stay for New Year."

Sherlock rolls his eyes, "we're leaving tonight. She wanted to meet John, she will get her wish momentarily, and then we'll be going home."

"So be it, don't blame me for any…" he pauses, "repercussions of your actions."

Sherlock grunts and rests his hand on the small of John's back, starting to walk, guiding him in the direction of his mother.


	21. Day 21: Cooking

"Sherlock? You in?" John opens the door to the living room of 221b, clutching an ASDA bag fit to burst. He sees Sherlock lying on the sofa, upside down, head resting on the coffee table and legs hanging over the back. His cheeks have turned a faint pink, indicating to John just how long he might have been sitting like that.

"Obviously," Sherlock grumbles, "when did you leave?"

John drops the bag on the kitchen table, "about three hours ago, why?"

"Oh," Sherlock lifts his head and throws his legs around to the floor to sit up straight, his face going slightly pinker. He runs his fingers through his hair, "it's Sunday, isn't it? You never go out on Sundays."

John chuckles as he begins to empty the contents of the bag onto the table, "I don't live on a specific timetable, you know."

"Yes, you do."

John just tuts in response, "fine, I have a vague kind of timetable, alright? Though, living with you means it doesn't always happen though, does it? We needed food so I went and bought some. Happy?"

Sherlock smirks and stands. He pads through into the kitchen and leans over John's shoulder, "what did you buy?"

"Well, I thought that since you haven't had a case in a few days, and it's unlikely you'll be getting one today—"

"Why won't I get one today?"

"Greg went to visit his family and do you honestly believe Dimmock will ask you for help?"

"Fine," Sherlock shrugs and goes back to looking over the things on the table.

"So I thought you'd like to try something new."

Sherlock gives him _a look_ and winds his arms around John's waist, resting his chin on John's shoulder, "with eggs, milk, and- are those multi-coloured sprinkles?"

"Shut up. Baking cakes will be fun. It'll stop you from being bored."

Rolling his eyes, Sherlock steps away and leans against the counter, folding his arms against his chest.

"Come on, humour me. You might find you enjoy it," John pulls a bowl out from the cupboard and cracks two eggs into it. He pulls out a bag labelled 'Cake Mix', cuts it open and pours it into the bowl, mumbling, "stir that."

Sherlock raises his eyebrow, "cheater."

"What?"

"Ready-made cake mix, John? Even I know how to make a cake without that."

John knocks his hip against Sherlock's, "shut up. It's quicker, and they taste nice."

Sherlock smirks and begins to stir, using the whisk like a professional cook. John ends up putting the milk down to stare, "where did you learn to do that?"

"Mummy," Sherlock says, "she was a big fan of cooking and taught Mycroft and I from a young age. Why do you think Mycroft is always on a diet? We both love to cook, and consequently when you make something that smells nice, you end up eating it."

"But you don't eat—"

"Just because I don't eat regularly, doesn't mean I can't enjoy it. It's a bit like chemistry." When John pulls a face Sherlock elaborates, "You put all the ingredients together and they come to make something that tastes good or bad. The same as chemistry, you put chemicals together to make a good or bad reaction."

"I never thought about it like that."

"Do think outside the box, John."

Smiling, John shakes his head and measures out the milk. He carefully adds it as Sherlock stirs, and soon they have a creamy mixture. They spoon it into the cake cases John had laid out earlier and shove them into the oven.

"Okay, check those in half an hour," John stands with his hands on his hips, proud of their work. When he looks up he laughs, "_Sherlock, are you eating the mix_?"

Looking scandalised, Sherlock quickly puts the bowl and spoon down, licking a little bit of the leftover mix from his lips, "no."

"You could at least share," John says, raising a hand to wipe some of the mix Sherlock had managed to get on the end of his nose, "nothing better than the stuff they put in ice cream than the actual mix itself."

They lean against each other; both armed with a tea spoon, and clean the bowl. When they're almost finished, Sherlock speaks, "can I decorate them?"

"What? Did your mum teach you how to ice cakes too?"

"No. That was grandmother. She was an excellent baker."

John chuckles, "there is so much I don't know about you. Now come on, if you help me tidy up you can decorate them."

Sherlock has never moved so quick in his life.


	22. Day 22: Side-by-side in battle

"Left! Left, Sherlock, left!" John shouts.

Sherlock follows John's instructions, cursing under his breath.

"Okay, go. Go! Hurry, they're going to get us."

"I'm trying," Sherlock shouts back, his frustration growing quickly.  
"Okay, wait a second, hide here."

Sherlock fidgets as they hide, "can we go now? They're gone, we can go."

Sherlock leaps from his hiding place, only to be greeted by Princess Peach's frying pan and the game over screen. He groans, "you said this would be easy."

"I thought you'd be good at fighting games, hand-eye co-ordination and all that." He met with a glare he continues, "come on, Super Smash Brothers isn't _that_ difficult."

Sherlock drops the controller onto his lap and rolls his eyes.

Sighing, John throws his controller onto Sherlock's lap and goes into the kitchen to make two mugs of tea.

Mrs Hudson had found the GameCube in the attic. Deciding she wouldn't have much use for it, and shops gave very little money for them anymore, she decided to give it to Sherlock and John thinking they might get more use out of it than she would, having no children or grandchildren of her own. John had immediately gone out to buy games, and had managed to pick up several both he and Sherlock would enjoy fairly cheap.

From the kitchen, John can hear Sherlock fiddling with the game.

"Do you want another go at the team game or shall we try the melee?" He shouts through.

A mumbled, "try again" floats through.

John brings the mugs into the living room and sets them on the table. He sits back down next to Sherlock and, leaning into his side, John plucks the controller back and starts setting the game up, "you want to be Mewtwo again or..?"

"It'll do."

John quickly sets his character as Dr Mario and begins the game, "and follow my instructions this time, okay?"

"I can try."

The game starts again and John can already see Sherlock improving. His inner teenager finding the sight of Dr Mario and Mewtwo fighting together hilarious.

When they successfully finish the game (without wither character being knocked out too many times), Sherlock grins, "look at that John, 10 KOs. And you thought I was bad that this game."

"Don't get cocky; the computer characters were on the easy setting."

"Bring it on."

John laughs and presses a quick kiss to Sherlock's jaw, "let's go."


	23. Day 23: Arguing

Much to Sherlock's delight, John had been sleeping in his own room less and less, and more often than not, Sherlock would find him tucked into his own bed.

Much to John's delight, his sleeping in Sherlock's bed meant that Sherlock slept more often (and had someone warm to curl up against, but that's beside the point).

The one issue John has with Sherlock's room is that it is often in a state of disreapair. Clothes strewn about, random mould samples and experiments and such litter the room. It was sometimes tidy, when Sherlock felt the need to clean it or had lost something.

'Everything is in its place,' Sherlock would argue when John complained.

John accepted this, although he still wasn't all too happy.

One day while searching for some pants he'd lost, he found some mould samples, shoved under the bed. He had opened one, only to be greeted by something smelling of vomit and his gag reflex kicking in. Sighing, he'd shoved the other samples to the side and continued his venture under the bed, finding various other experiments, some obviously long forgotten.

That's when he's greeted a patch of mould on the floorboards, smelling suspiciously like the jar he'd just opened.

"That's disgusting," he chokes into his sleeve.

Pushing the experiments back under the bed and giving up his search for his pants, John storms into the kitchen to wash his hands, disinfectant and all. He throws on his jacket and proceeds to stomp down the stairs, bumping into Sherlock in the main entryway.

"Where are you going?" Sherlock says, trying to greet John properly with a kiss.

John squirms out of his reach, and marches out of the door, "out."

"Where "out"?"

But John is halfway down the street, curled fists held close to his body. Sherlock frowns.

When Sherlock lies in bed alone that night, he hears John trudging up the stairs to his own room and the groan of John's mattress when he settles down for the night. He rolls over, running through everything he could have done to make John, _his John_, upset.

Continued in day: 24, making up


	24. Day 24: Making up after arguing

Continued from: day 25, arguing

John looks into the living room mirror, fixing his tie and dragging his fingers through his hair, trying to make it lay flat. Sherlock rushes out of his room and grabs John's hand to pull him to the sofa.

"What are you doing?" John says, trying to pull his hand away, "I don't have time for this, I have work."

Sherlock says nothing, gently pushing John's shoulders until he sits in the middle of the sofa. Sherlock then sits next to him, as close as he can. He shuffles until he's almost on John's lap and tucks his face into John's neck, mumbling into the material of John's shirt.

John doesn't move, "what?"

"I'm sorry. For whatever I did, I'm sorry." Sherlock wraps his arms around John's waist and buries his face again.

"What, Sherlock?" John moves his head back to look Sherlock in the eye, "what did you do? Why are you sorry?"

"The way you stormed out yesterday, I thought-" Sherlock starts.

"What? No no," John soothes, moving his hand to card through Sherlock's curls, "trust me, if you'd done something wrong, I'd let you know," he pauses, chewing his lip, "you know what my temper is like. I'm usually calm, but any little thing can set me off."

Sherlock hums when John begins rubbing small circles on his back with his other hand.

"I was just a little pissed off, and needed some air, alright? You didn't do anything wrong."

"Then what was it?"

John smiles, dropping a kiss into Sherlock's hair, "the mould samples and chemicals in the bedroom, maybe?"

Sherlock shifts uncomfortably.

John laughs and pulls Sherlock closer, "it's just, if I'm going to sleep in your room, I'd prefer to know I'm not going to trip over one of your experiments during the night or end up catching a disease from the mould. It's not healthy to hide that stuff where we sleep."

"If you sleep in my bed, does that mean I can keep them up in your room?" Sherlock says, looking up from underneath his eyelashes.

"I suppose, as long as you don't mess it up too much, and clean up the mould that started growing in the corner," John says.

Sherlock smiles, pressing his cheek against John's.

They sit holding each other for a moment, when John chuckles, "so, guilt. Sherlock Holmes can actually feel guilt."

"No, I was merely worried about you," Sherlock retorts, dropping his forehead to John's shoulder.

"You felt guilty," John laughs, nuzzling Sherlock's neck with his nose.

Sherlock squirms, mumbling, "no I didn't."

John turns in his seat to lie back, and pulls Sherlock down with him, tucking him under his arm.

"I thought you had work?"

"Work can wait; I was leaving early to stop somewhere to get breakfast anyway."

"So we're okay?"

John kisses Sherlock's nose, "we're more than okay."


	25. Day 25: Gazing into eachother's eyes

_This is something I'll never get used to, _is something John thinks almost every morning when he wakes up next to Sherlock.

John has a very good internal body clock. The only disadvantage of this being his inability to have a lie in, which means he is often left awake while Sherlock catches up on his marathon fourteen hour sleep after a case. Usually, he gets up, showers, and begins his daily business until Sherlock wakes up. Other days he likes to stay in bed, occasionally with a book, sometimes just to close his eyes and think.

This morning is one of those days. He'd been thinking seriously about several things recently, one of which would be put into action that morning, when Sherlock finally woke up. John shifts from his side onto his front, jostling the mattress causing Sherlock to open his eyes. They flicker sleepily over to John, the corners of his mouth turning up.

"Mornin'," John says, head resting on his folded arms on the pillow.

Sherlock stares blearily for a moment, before mumbling a gravelly, "morning."

With a smile, John rolls over onto his back again, his arm blindly grabbing a small velvet box from the bedside table. He drops the box on Sherlock's chest and smiles, snuggling into Sherlock's side and throwing an arm over his waist.

Sherlock eyes the box warily, finally waking up properly, picking it up and turning it in his hand. His eyes widen when he realises what it is.

"John, I—"

John laughs, "worked it out?"

"Are you sure?"

John looks into Sherlock's eyes, a strange green in the morning light, and gently nods his head, "yes. I've been thinking about this for a while, and yes. I'm sure. I wouldn't have asked otherwise."

Sherlock flips the lid of the box open, greeted by a pair of plain silver bands. He picks one up and reads the engraving on the inside, _29 JAN 2010 SH & JW_. He smiles, "the day we met. How very sentimental of you."

"It's what I do best," John says, pressing his lips against the shell of Sherlock's ear, "I didn't think you'd want anything fancy, so I when I found those I was over the moon."

"Everything I said that day still applies, are you sure you want to spend the rest of your life with me?"

"Of course, if any of those things bothered me I'd be long gone by now. I love you for you, and want to spend the rest of my life with you. But only if you want to spend yours with me."

Sherlock slips the ring onto his finger and holds it in the air, examining and feeling the weight of it. He picks up John's hand and puts the other ring onto his finger. Sherlock then entwines their fingers together and rests their hands on his chest.

"'Till death do us part," Sherlock grins.

"'Till death do us part," John repeats, matching Sherlock's smile.


	26. Day 26: Getting married

Day 26: getting married

John hears Sherlock's familiar stomping from their room to the living room.

"Why do I have to wear this?" He whines, "it's not like we're having a ceremony or anything. We're just signing a piece of paper."

John chuckles, not looking up from his newspaper, "what do you mean 'just'? It means something to me. And besides, you think I made you wear that tux for a real reason? You wear those posh suits every day; this was a completely selfish decision on my part. Now hurry up and sort your tie, Mycroft's car'll be here soon."

"But a bow tie? I never wear ties."

John glances up, a sly smile crossing his face. Sherlock scowls in reply, and crosses to the mirror to straighten his jacket. He nods towards John's state of dress, his eyes raking up and down the old tshirt and bright red underwear, "aren't you going to put on a suit?"

John folds the paper in half and drops it on the coffee table, "yes, I was waiting for you to finish in the bathroom first."

With a smile, he stands and saunters through into their bedroom, picking up his bag of clothes on the way.

Sherlock hears the shower turn on and John's familiar rustling in the bathroom. He falls into his chair and smiles. It had been a month since John had proposed to him. They had intended to get everything sorted and marry quickly, but then a rather distracting case had come up that required both their attention and an eventful trip to Slovakia.

Sherlock is snapped out of his thoughts when he hears John re-enter the room.

"Come on then, husband. Our car awaits," John says, leaning over the back of Sherlock's armchair and pressing a kiss into his hair.

Sherlock lifts his head and presses his nose against John's cheek, "we're not married yet, John," he mumbles.

John smirks, "not for much longer."

Sherlock slowly rises from his chair and straightens out his jacket. For the second time that morning Sherlock takes in the sight before him.

"So, a kilt?" Sherlock smirks, "and are you wearing this traditionally?"

"I'll leave you to your deductions," John says, offering Sherlock an arm, which he quickly takes. John leads them down the stairs, their footfalls falling into sync within seconds.


End file.
